


obey

by banshee_in_the_dark



Series: aftershocks [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Communication, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, F/M, Fingerfucking, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series 03, Power Play, Romance, Smut, Sub!Clarke, dom!bellamy, informal power play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:24:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7603282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banshee_in_the_dark/pseuds/banshee_in_the_dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>obey: v. to comply with or follow a command, wish, instruction.</i>
</p><p>Bellamy needs to be in control, and Clarke needs to relinquish it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	obey

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! First of all, thank you for clicking. I know the tags can be a little intimidating, and not exactly everyone's cup of tea. This work follows the previous one in the series,[ 'contrast'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7156769) so I suggest you read that first to have all the necessary context.
> 
> A few warnings: as the tags say, this work explores the subject of Power Exchange, wherein two people consensually and voluntarily agree to a relationship in which one gives control over to the other person in a agreed situation, such as during sexual encounters. The person who holds control and authority during that given situation is generally known as the Dominant, while the person who yields to them is the submissive. This dynamic is deliberatly constructed, meaning it is discussed at length in advance. Both parties are consensually and willingly entering this arrangement.
> 
> I have headcanoned Bellamy as a sexual dominant and Clarke as a sexual submissive for a long time and if you've read any of my previous work these past two years you probably already know that. You will notice this fic is quite different from Caught in the Fire, in the sense that neither Bellamy or Clarke are familiar with BDSM so they explore this newfound dynamic of their relationship in a more informal way. This is possible because in canon, they have no access to internet or literature they can consult on the subject, so they are, in a way, making it up as they go. 
> 
> I DO NOT suggest you do the same in real life. If you are interested in trying any form of power exchange with your partner, I strongly urge you to talk about it with them openly and honestly before you try anything and educate yourselves on the subject. Communication is the most important thing in a relationship, and so is informed, risk aware consent if you're thinking about introducing potentally dangerous kink practices into your sex life.
> 
> The biggest thanks to [ Sarah ](http://www.writingaloveaffair.tumblr.com) you were a great help with this one and so patient with me. I hope you're feeling better and this makes you smile even a little bit. 
> 
> And a shout-out to [ Marissa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMarissa/pseuds/MissMarissa), my sounding board for basically everything and a source of endless naughty ideas.  
> Enjoy!

The first night Clarke stayed with him, she made a very interesting discovery. Bellamy snores.

It wouldn’t be of notice if she hadn’t slept in his vicinity a dozen times before, camped under the stars on their way to Luna or even before that, before she sent him to Mount Weather and they were trying to forge an alliance with the grounders. Those times he’d practically slept with one eye open, his gun within reach, and woke up at the slightest noise, becoming fully alert and ready in the span of a few seconds. 

But here, in the safety of his quarters, he’s completely different. For one thing, he sleeps sprawled on the bed, a mess of limbs pointing into different directions. He tends to stay close to her when she’s there, but with the exception of last night, they never really cuddled. More often than not, she woke up with one of Bellamy’s hands grabbing whichever part of her body was closest to him, as if to make sure, even in his sleep, that she wasn’t going anywhere.

He also sleeps very deeply, and she estimates the snoring is a byproduct of that. His chest expands as he inhales, rumbling deeply. Clarke has honestly never seen him so relaxed, so stress free as she has this past month and half when she sneaks to share his bed.

She grins happily, burrowing closer to his side as memories of last night assault her senses. They did more than platonically share a bed last night. She lazily traces random patterns over his chest as she remembers everything, how brazenly she told him about her dreams about him… She even told him she touched herself thinking about him. And then, he asked her to show how got herself off before fucking her and making her come like she never has before.

His hand suddenly covers hers over his chest, stalling her curious fingers. “That tickles,” he says thickly, slowing blinking at her. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Clarke bites her lip to contain her grin. “Did last night really happen?”

Bellamy adopts a mock-frown. “What do you mean?”

She shoves him playfully. “Come on.”

He shakes his head, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Oh, wait.” He rolls her onto her back, crowding her and sneaks a hand between her legs to trace her slit with the pads of his fingers. “You mean this?”

Clarke sighs and parts her legs, letting him have all the room he desires. “Yeah. That.”

Bellamy hums in agreement as his index and middle finger circle her opening and spread the cream gathered there, fresh wetness from her recent recollection of the event of last night. 

He thrusts a few times, in and out slowly and more wetness eases his path. Clarke arches her hips up to meet him, clenches her cunt to increase the friction. 

“Something definitely happened here last night.” He drums his thumb over her clit, the digit falling heavily over her sensitive nub. “I think it’s coming to me. Should I remind you?”

Clarke shivers. “Yes, please.”

Bellamy drops his head and his lips find a spot on the side of her neck, the same one he buries his face against when he hugs her. Clarke angles her head back, giving him ample access. His fingers work diligently, bringing her to a rapidly approaching orgasm. Blindly, she palms his groin until she can wrap her hand around his steely cock, desperate to give him as much pleasure as he’s giving her.

His fingers falter in their rhythm. “Mind those idle hands of yours, Clarke. I didn’t say you could touch me.”

Her cunt clenches hard around him, almost pushed over the brink by his words. A rush of wetness bathes his thrusting fingers and Clarke drops his cock obediently, fisting the sheets instead.

Bellamy nibbles the shell of her ear and makes a pleased sound, accepting her compliance. “Now I’m gonna add another finger,” he informs her. “You’re very tight, but you can take it. Just like you took my cock last night.”

Heat washes over her as his voice pulls her on a trance. Pleasure coils low on her belly, close to unraveling. 

Clarke nods. “I will. I’ll take it.”

“Good.” Bellamy pulls her lobe with his teeth as three thick fingers breach her, giving her a kind of sensual pain that adds to her need rather than detract from it. Her walls flutter around him, hugging his fingers as they explore her depths. “Very good. You’re almost there.”

Bellamy showers a path of sweet kisses across her cheek until he finally settles for her mouth, devouring her moans and whimpers with abandon. His fingers curl inside her, massaging that spot that made her see stars last night as his thumb relentlessly stimulates her clit. 

“You’re gonna come now, Clarke. Don’t fight it, let it happen.”

Clarke nods frantically and sure enough, the orgasm cracks through her, all the pleasure coiled finally unravelling and expanding like warm light over her body. Bellamy whispers encouraging words as his fingers help her ride it through.

“Oh my god.” Her chest heaves up and down as she sucks in gulping breaths. She pulls him down for a long, ravenous kiss and nibbles on his bottom lip. “That was amazing.”

His heart shines in his eyes when she finally opens hers to stare at him. “Yeah, it was.  _ You  _ are.”

Clarke shyly looks away. “You didn’t get off. I didn’t even do anything.”

Bellamy swallows. “I almost did, just looking at you, listening to the sounds you made. I got this rush like - ” He glances away with a frown.

Clarke cups his cheek. “Hey. Don’t shut me out.”

He cocks his head to the side and looks at her. She can practically see the cobwebs working inside his brain. “You were so pliant, so malleable. And I noticed you were like that last night, following my instructions,” he says tactfully. “I really got off to that.”

A tiny smirk curves her lips. “Well, I got off too. Repeatedly. Maybe I just like it when you're in charge. Does that surprise you?”

“Yeah,” he replies with heartfelt conviction.

“Why?”

Bellamy bites the inside of his cheek and glances away. “I don't think I even like it when I'm in charge.”

“Are you kidding?” she laughs and shoves him a little. When she sees the serious expression in his face she sobers up. “Bellamy… You’re a natural leader. A good one.”

He looks away. “I’m not. Look at what happened here while you were gone. I fucked up.” 

This is not the kind of post-coital talk she had in mind but. This is something they need to talk about, especially if it’s still bothering him. Screw basking in the afterglow. This is more important.

Clarke rises up on her elbow. “You were following orders, Pike’s orders. You were not in charge.”

“I could’ve listened to Kane.”

“Sure. You could’ve. And Kane wouldn’t have attacked the army,” Clarke states, watching his face strain. “And when Ontari became commander that army would’ve killed everyone.”

“We don’t know what could’ve happened.”

“Exactly. You did what you could with the information you had. You followed Pike because it made sense but at the end of the day, it was always his call, not yours. Look, I ran away because I couldn’t deal with being in charge anymore. I stayed in Polis and turned a blind eye to everything that was happening here because I couldn’t face it. I was hiding,” Clarke confesses. “You stayed but you were hiding too, in a way. Obedience was how you escaped.”

Bellamy swallows thickly. “We’re a pair.”

“We are,” she agrees, cupping his jaw. “And we’re going to do better from now on.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up and he leans down to kiss her, eyes soft. “Together.”

“Besides…” Clarke bites the inside of her cheek, walking her fingers over his bare chest. “Taking charge comes so naturally to you. Last night and just now... I wasn’t faking any of my responses, in fact I -” she snorts a little confused laugh, unsure and conflicted by her reaction to him. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so free. You were confident, bold, sure of yourself. It was so erotic and - comforting?” 

“Comforting?” he asks, interest piqued.

“Yeah, I…” she breathes a little embarrassed laugh. “I really liked it. I felt I didn’t have to hide because you were there for me.”

Bellamy wets his lips before talking. “It’s not the first time I’ve been demanding or in control during sex. It’s happened with others, but not like with you. And I - I get why I’m like that. I get why I need that. Everything that was always important to me, my whole life, it felt like it was beyond my control. Awful things could happen and there was nothing I could do to make it better. It was always about someone else’s choices or needs. My mother’s, the Council’s, Jaha’s. Octavia’s. And it’s like I’m always two steps behind and I can’t catch up. Always reacting.”

“But sex, you can control it. You can be the one who calls the shots.”

He nods somberly. “And like I said, I was aware of it, of that need before but I… It hasn’t been good with anyone like you Clarke. No one’s ever let me get to that place. With them it was either a game or a push and pull for control. And I was okay with that, but with you… You didn’t just let me have control for fun. You surrendered.”

Clarke’s heart beats wildly in her chest. 

Before she can say anything, before she can even understand her own spiraling thoughts and feelings, he continues, grim and sober. “I know what surrendering to someone else’s will feels like. I’ve lived it my whole life and I hate it. Last night was amazing, I’ve never felt like that. But now I can’t wrap my head around it. Why would you want to surrender? And I got off to that. Why would  _ I _ want you like that?”

“I - I don’t know what to say. I’ve never done that with anyone else. I’ve always gone after what I wanted but last night with you I just…” she heaves a shaky sigh. “I knew I could take charge at any moment, but I also knew with you I didn’t  _ have _ to. And it was a relief. I felt… safe. Cherished. I don’t know how else to explain it.  I knew I could let go, because you had me. Letting myself be vulnerable, it was incredibly erotic. Especially when you were pushing me.”

“You wanted to stop. I crossed a line.”

“If I had wanted to stop we would've. I was a little unsure and self-conscious and you put me at ease. I'm glad we didn't stop. You guided me to the best orgasm I remember having. You took me past a limit I didn't even know I had.”

“But you have limits for a reason. This time you don't regret it, but the things I want to do to you Clarke... what if I go too far the next time?”

Her heart skips as the words fall effortlessly from his lips. There’s going to be a next time. He can’t take that back.  “We'll deal with that if we have to. But Bellamy, I know you. If I had really wanted to stop, you would have.”

“I would have,” he agrees. 

“And…” she worries her lip. “I don’t think I could’ve let go like I did if I didn’t trust you so much.”

He turns his face away. “What if I abuse that trust?”

“I won’t let you.”

He smiles and looks at her. “I don’t deserve you.”

Just as his lips are about to touch hers, someone pounds on the door.

_ “Bellamy! Wake up!” _

“Fuck you Miller!”

_ “My boyfriend already did!” _ A pause.  _ “And Raven cracked the flame.” _

They glance at each other, the mood sobering instantly. Clarke sits up, briefly kissing him. “We have work to do. Later?”

“You bet.”

He gives her a sizzling kiss, stealing every coherent thought from her brain and sending her pulse humming a tune. 

* * *

Clarke sits cross legged on the middle of the bed picking at a hole on the blanket. It’s weird being here without Bellamy. She’s never come here when he wasn’t around but tonight, she just couldn’t be around her mother or Kane, brainstorming the salvation of the human race over dinner. 

For as much time as she’s spent here, she never paid much attention to Bellamy’s quarters. They’re neat and orderly, nothing out of place, no trinkets or pictures. Not even books, which saddens her. He should have books. 

The door slides open with a jarring sound. Bellamy steps in and for a moment, she sees him as he never lets himself be seen. Head down, beaten, shoulders crushing under the weight of everything the world puts on them, of all the responsibility he takes on. 

“Hey.”

She startles him and, god but it hurts that his hand goes automatically to his thigh holster. This is the world they live in, dangerous, actively trying to kill them, one way or another. 

“Hey,” he breathes, and Clarke is happy to see his face soften, the tension draining away. Her heart feels lighter, even just a little bit, by being around him. “I would’ve come sooner if I’d know you were here.”

Bellamy removes his weapons, one by one, depositing them in a neat row over his desk. First the handgun strapped to his thigh, then the shock baton secured at his hip and lastly the hunting knife sheathed to his belt on his back. Then he crosses the short distance to the bed and sits down, unlacing his boots methodically.

Clarke scoots closer and curls her legs beneath her. “Two months,” she says, weary.

He freezes for a second and then toes off his boots. “We’ll figure something out.”

“We already wasted a month and half. If we’d known sooner - ”

“We had no way to know ALIE’s calculations were wrong. And Raven worked as fast as she could. We have almost two months from now to find the habitable corner of the world and disable as many reactors around it as we can. We will figure something out.”

“I know,” she placates him. “I just hate this. My head is just, full of plans and ideas and possibilities and I can’t turn it off.”

He smiles at her, a little sadly, but there’s hope there. “That’s good. That’s what’s going to save us.”

Clarke tries to nod and smile, but she starts to breathe hard through her nose, the air never seeming to fill her starved lungs as her eyes brims with tears. Her lips part but her gasps are unsuccessful at drawing in much needed air. “I’m so tired of having to save people,” she chokes out, struggling to maintain a semblance of control and failing spectacularly.

Bellamy reacts to her distress, pulling her into his arms and brushing her back with a soothing hand. He doesn’t tell her to pull herself back together, doesn’t try to cheer her up. He just lets her cry, be vulnerable and weak. He lets her be the scared eighteen year old she hasn’t allowed to surface in months. 

He remains steady in her chaotic distress, firm for her because that’s what she needs. And it’s infuriating.

She fists her hand on the material of his shirt. “I know you’re struggling too. Say something. Scream, cry. Anything.” 

Clarke feels him shake his head where it rests over hers.

His voice is rough, resigned when he finally speaks. “This is just another thing for me to react to.” 

She tilts her head back and through the brim of tears, meets his eyes. Everything she needs to know is there. The hopelessness, the helplessness. While her mind is doggedly conjuring plans, trying to find loopholes to avoid dead ends and clinging to every shred of hope, his is bleak and reeling because this is another thing he can’t control. 

“I understand now,” Clarke whispers.

He cups her cheek, wiping a tear with his thumb. “What?”

“Last night… the reason I could let go and you took charge.” She licks her lips. “We need it. I need to not feel like everything's on me, that I can sit back and not be responsible for everyone around me. That way I feel free. Choosing to release that control for a limited time it’s like a burden being lifted.  But for you, it’s the opposite. You also feel responsible for everyone else, you do, but being unable to do more because you have limitations frustrates you and makes you feel powerless. Stepping into a role where you’re in complete control is how you work through that and ease your burden.”

“We complement each other,” Bellamy replies, face open and bewildered like he’s witnessing the greatest revelation.

And in a way they are.

Clarke nods. “We do. We always have.”

“Not like this,” Bellamy points out, and he’s right. 

“No,” she agrees. This is new and exciting and full of promise. But it’s also based on everything that came before, in all that makes their relationship fundamentally different and stronger than what they have with everyone else. “But it’s not that much of a stretch and… I don’t want us to ignore it just because it’s scary or we don’t understand it completely. When I’m with you, I want to give myself to you completely. I want you to take the lead and feel that relief of being obedient and cared for by you. I need it, and you need it too. Will you have me?”

Bellamy shakes his head, wets his lips. “What if I go too far? It scares me, Clarke. I don’t want to hurt you or make you feel bad about yourself. I couldn’t bear it.”

“As long as we do this, talk about things, it won’t be a problem. I trust you,” she reminds him. “More than anyone. I wouldn’t be trying to convince you to boss me around if I didn’t.” 

Her attempt at humor has the intended result and Bellamy smiles, touching his forehead to hers.

“We’re doing this.” 

Clarke hears the questioning tone in his voice so she meets his eyes dead on, letting her confidence and resolve shine through them. She may want to put herself under his control, but her desire to do it comes from a place of strength. “Yes, we are.”

Pleased with her response, Bellamy lowers his face and takes her mouth with an experimental brush of lips. They are warm, a little chapped but for the most part smooth. His lips move against hers, gaining confidence as the kiss grows more insistent. She goes pliant under his attentions, following the rhythm he set, letting have the lead. His breath comes out through his nose tickling her cheek and Clarke sighs, parting for him when he applies a little pressure on the seam of her lips with his tongue. 

Clarke melts against him, giving him her compliance in a kiss that makes her heart soar. His hand brushes her face in a gentle caress, a contrast as Bellamy drags his teeth over her bottom lip and she gasps, unexpectedly delighted by the small ache. She twists around to get her legs from under her and to straddle him but the skin of the back of her left shoulder pulls with the abrupt movement, and sharp pain radiates from the spot. She winces and he pulls away.

“You okay?” Bellamy asks her, touching her lip with his thumb. 

“Yeah, it’s just an old wound. It didn’t heal really well and the scar tissue bothers me sometimes.”

“Where?”

Clarke turns around and lifts off her shirt, dropping it on the floor. Bellamy touches her waist softly, his large hand settling on the slope of her waist almost possessively, like it belongs there. Clarke shivers and presses her thighs close together. She knows what those hands of his can do and they very much belong on her. 

His breath fans over her exposed back as he examines the jagged scars that start on the top of her left shoulder and trail down her shoulder blade. The lines are raised and pink, healed but not completely right. Niylah hadn’t known how to set stitches and Clarke hadn’t let anyone in Polis treat her either, so she cared the wound the best she could on her own, bandaging it and keeping it clean. It’d taken longer to heal and the wounds opened several times before they completely scarred, resulting in the ugly mess her back is right now.

“I didn’t notice these last night.”

Clarke bites the inside of her cheek, need building steadily within her as memories of the night before flood her brain. “You were otherwise preoccupied.”

“How did you get them?” Bellamy asks, reverently touching a finger to one of the raised lines. 

“Hunting. The day before Roan captured me.”

Clarke is glad she’s facing away from him. If Bellamy is good at one thing, it is to feel responsible for absolutely everything that goes wrong in the lives of the people he cares about. She is lucky to be included on that group, but she hates to see the guilt in his eyes. Hates knowing that his brain is probably swimming right now with self-recrimination. What if he’d found her sooner? What if he’d fought Roan harder? What if he’d never let her go in the first place?

It’s irrational of course. None of it is his fault. It’s not hers either. She did what she did, left when she left, and hurt a lot of people in the process, Bellamy included. But it was something she had to do and she’s not apologizing for putting herself first.

The brush of his lips over her scars startle her before she melts against him. With patience and restraint that contradict the hungry way he took her mouth just minutes ago, Bellamy presses gentle kisses down the lines of her scars as his hand rubs her side with slow, soothing strokes. Clarke lets her head fall limply forward, revelling in his touch. 

“I have an idea. I can get something to help you.” 

Clarke looks at him over her shoulder and catches the calculating look he gives her. Curiosity spiked, she waits patiently. 

“I’m going to step outside for a moment. While I'm gone,” he starts, the low velvety quality of his voice promising all kinds of things. “I want you to take off the rest of your clothes, lay on the bed face down and keep your eyes closed. Don't open them until I tell you.”

Her heart starts racing in her chest. Last night, Bellamy took charge naturally because that’s who he is. And she accepted him, surrendered to him, because that’s who Clarke is free to be with him. Now there’s purpose shining in his eyes and bleeding into his words and Clarke is more than ready to take this step with him and see where it takes them. Because he needs to be in control, and Clarke needs to relinquish it.

He is owning something in himself, something he fears and craves in equal measure. He’s doing it with her, for her. She’s humbled by how much of his soul he bares to her, and how little he asks in return.

Can it even be considered asking, when she’s so desirous to give it to him?

Clarke pushes to her feet and stands between his legs. Her shirt has already been discarded so she presents herself to him with her torso exposed, with the exception of her bra. She watches as Bellamy’s gaze catalogues her movements, searing her skin as she slowly shakes her head, letting her curls cascade over her shoulders. 

Breathing heavily, Bellamy stares up at her for a long second. Clarke pops the first button of her pants, then the second and very carefully lowers the zipper until her utilitarian gray panties are revealed. His gaze zeroes in on the exposed triangle of fabric covering her mound, level with his eyes. Clarke wonders if he knows she grows wetter under his intense scrutiny. She wonders if he realizes her panties are damp because of him. His face is so close to her, she wonders if he can smell her.

Judging by the hunger present in his eyes, he might.

“Good,” he rasps. He cups the back of her knee and Clarke fights the ticklish reaction as he traces the back of her thigh until he reaches the curve of her ass. His hand falls and suddenly he stands up, invading her space, crowding her but not quite touching her, except for his index finger applying ever so gentle pressure under her chin to tilt it up and face him fully. As if she could escape the raw need present in his face, etched on the curve of his panting lips, glowing in the depths of his dark eyes. As if she wants to.

He steps aside and around her and without uttering another word, he exits the room, sliding the door behind him with a gentle swoosh.

Clarke’s knees nearly buckle under her once he’s gone. Such is the force of her own need.

She undresses quickly, eager to complete his instructions efficiently before he returns. She makes one concession however and wastes precious time artfully draping her panties over the foot of the bed, putting the damp spot at the center on display. Pleased with the result, she crawls across the bed and gets comfortable on her stomach, closes her eyes and waits, feeling her muscles relaxing and her senses becoming more acute.

When the door slides open again, her body is taken by a wave of anticipation, so needy she can hardly contain it. But Clarke focuses on her breathing, and gradually she relaxes again. She hears Bellamy move around the room but she has trouble discerning what he’s doing. A swoosh here, a dull thud there, the faint sound of running water lasting for a couple of minutes, long enough to warm up, before it’s abruptly shut down. And then a faint jarring noise, close to her, like two metallic objects becoming in contact and water sloshing inside a bowl.

Clarke feels the mattress dip under Bellamy’s weight as he sits next to her. Paying attention to sounds becomes increasingly difficult as blood rushes to her ears, deafening her almost completely.

A warm drop of oil hits right between her shoulderblades and Clarke lets out a surprised moan. It smells heavenly and feels even better on her chilled skin.

“It’s almond oil, I borrowed it from Miller. He suggested warming it up first.”

He dribbles a few more generous dollops over her back and puts away the container. His hands start to languidly massage her back working the oil into her skin and loosening the tension accumulated there. Bellamy pays close attention to her scars, being extremely careful not to dig his fingers too deeply or pull her skin there, but still treating the damaged tissue to his healing touch. 

He uses his hands to massage the skin around the scars with slow motions and applying light pressure. Then, with two fingers he traces the largest scar in a perpendicular direction to its line. He repeats the process for several minutes on all three scars before abandoning the area completely and rubbing clockwise circles around the rest of her back.

Back at the dropship, Clarke had instructed Jasper and Finn on the correct way to treat their scars, the same type of massage Bellamy is giving her now. She wonders for a moment how he came by this knowledge and then she remembers. The stab wound on his thigh could severely hinder him if he didn’t take care of it, so it makes sense that he knows what he’s doing. 

Clarke is practically incoherent at this point, so when his lips brush the shell of her ear and he whispers to her, it takes her a moment to process his words.

Bellamy cup her uninjured shoulder. “Clarke. Turn around,” he repeats.

“But I’ll stain your blanket.”

A beat of silence. She’s tempted to open her eyes and look at him, because the atmosphere has changed and she feels like he’s arming himself for something. 

And then it makes sense. “That was an order.”

Clarke inhales sharply and a shiver overtakes her as goosebumps break out over her skin. The commanding quality in his voice dominates her senses. Her nipples bead, seeking friction where they touch the blanket.

Wordlessly, Clarke obeys and turns around, remembering to keep her eyes closed. Bellamy assists her and she’s pleased to find he laid a towel beside her to keep her oily back from messing up his blanket.

She settles comfortably, feeling her large breasts slope to her sides. She parts her legs, anticipating his touch. She is swollen and wet and she needs him.

A few drops of warm oil rain over the valley between her breasts, shocking her. Bellamy’s hand follow immediately, rubbing the oil into her pliant tits, cupping them, massaging them reverently. He pushes the two globes together and teases her pointed nipples with the pad of his thumbs. Clarke bites back an indecent moan.

“I’m gonna fuck you here one day,” Bellamy promises, his voice low and provocative.

Her thighs clamp shut, rubbing together in an effort to relieve some of her growing need.

Bellamy clucks his tongue. More oil dribbles down her stomach and over the tops of her thighs, followed by his hands. He applies gentle but deliberate pressure on the seam of her thighs, separating them and denying her what little friction she attained.

She pleads with him. “Bellamy.”

He brushes a chaste kiss over her panting lips. “Soon. But you have to hold still.”

It’s insane how he manages to drive her right to the edge without even touching her cunt. He gets close, yes. His large hands thoroughly massage the fleshy inside of her thighs, paying special attention to the dip where her legs and hip meet, but he doesn’t go any further up. Likewise, he rubs his hands languidly over her stomach, dipping low and bushing the golden crown covering her sex before retreating upwards and reacquainting himself with her heavy breasts.

Clarke’s muscles twitch and jump in her effort to remain still. He’ll give her what she needs, she knows he will. But God, she can’t take much more of this.

So lost she is in the spell of her desire, it takes her a moment to realise he stopped touching her. In fact, it’s the sound of running water that alerts her of his absence. Clarke balls her hands at her sides, fighting the urge to touch herself, and tries to temper the lust boiling her blood instead.

Bellamy returns shortly and touches her jaw gently. The smell of clean soap envelops her senses.

“Open your eyes.”

Clarke complies instantly, blinking up at him to clear her vision. She sees her need reflected in his eyes, raw hunger mixed with a depth of feelings unexplored.

He’s completely naked, his cock hard and proud rising up from the thick mop of dark hair covering his groin. Clarke licks her lips, feasting her eyes with the sight of him, all of him. His body is gorgeous. Wide shoulders tapering to a lean waist, powerful thighs. Powerful but still graceful, without unattractively overdeveloped muscles. He may not have a warrior’s body, refined for combat and intimidation, though he can certainly hold his own in a fight. The strength of his limbs comes from hard labour instead. His body is honed to create, to build.

Bellamy wraps his hand around hers and helps her sit up. He settles against the headboard in the middle of the bed, his legs open wide, caging her. He took a similar position last night, pulling her back against him and coaxing her body to accept the pleasure his hands offered her.

But this time he has her face him, sitting back on her legs between his thighs as the tantalizing club of his sex bobs up in the air. 

“You said you like it when I’m in charge,” he says assuredly, slowly palming his cock. “So. Take me into your mouth.”

Clarke responds to the challenge quickly, taking his thick cock in one hand and beginning a slow, up and down pumping motion. She loves the feel of him in her palm, hot and hard and velvety. Clear precum beads on the broad head in response to her intimate massage, his cock getting even harder under her touch.

Bellamy corrects her with a groan. “I didn't say you could use your hands.”

The harsh command in his voice makes her belly flutter. She really does love it when he’s in charge. Clarke smiles, leans forward supporting herself on her elbows and takes as much of his large cock as she can into the warm cavern of her mouth.

She takes her time, lapping and sucking the long column of his cock, trapping the broad head with her lips and retracting the foreskin with loving patience.

Clarke feels him twitch against her tongue. Bellamy fists her hair in a hand as she attempts to deepthroat him, but she is out of practice so her gag reflex is easily triggered when his cock advances on her throat. The hand on her hair tightens a little more roughly as the walls of her throat convulse around him. Her choked moans are matched by his ragged ones and the curses falling from his lips.

He slowly directs her head up and Clarke releases his cock, a thin trail of saliva connecting her lips to it. She delivers a last, sucking kiss to the head, looking innocently up as his eyes follow her actions.

“Come here.”

He helps her sit on his cock, instructing her to plant her feet on the mattress bracketing his hips. He breaches her entrance as she squats over him and Clarke gasps as he lowers her onto his cock, guiding her motions with his steady hands gripping her hips. This position opens her fully and somehow makes her pussy even tighter around him. 

Her forehead rests against his when she makes it all the way down and they stay like that for a long moment, catching their breaths. 

Bellamy’s hands trail up and down her sides, as if frantically trying to feel her all at once. “Fuck Clarke, I -”

Whatever he was about to say, she’s probably not ready to hear it, so she’s glad he didn’t finish the sentence. But she kisses him with the force of her pent up need, with every persistent, unexplored feeling she harbors for him. She flattens her hands over his chest, feeling his ragged breaths expanding his lungs, his heart drumming under her fingers. 

“Look at me,” Bellamy commands, his voice a low growl. “I need to see you.”

“Yes…” Clarke gasps and bites her lip, eyes held in the intensity of his gaze.

He helps her up and down on his cock, one big hand curled over the slope of her hip, his thumb slipping between her legs, delving into her wet slit and stroking along the side of her clit with, unmerciful precision. Her chest heaves and her rhythm falters, making his fingers trip on her clit and pleasure to flare. She feels her pussy stretching to accommodate him as he slides deep into her, holds still when he reaches the end of her chanel and then guides her up.

Over and over they repeat the motion until her legs tire, unaccustomed to such strenuous exercise. Unhurried, his fingers gather the wetness accumulated at her entrance, tracing the place where they’re joined. Clarke feels his touch like electricity, tiny sparks following his fingers around that place, reminding her, as if she could forget, just how open she is for him. 

With the new juices collected, Bellamy paints spirals over and around her clit, and it’s finally too much for Clarke to take. She reaches up to cup his cheek, as his eyes burn into hers. “I’m going to come,” she announces, trembling.

By now they’ve completely abandoned anything resembling a rhythm to their fucking. Clarke just sits there, impaled on his length, held close to his chest by one of his strong arms as the other skilled hand strokes her clit. “Do it,” he allows, his voice a raw, urgent whisper, giving her exactly what she needed to trigger her orgasm. “Look at me and do it.”

Her heart pounds as his gaze softens when her pussy clenches hard around his cock. She’s unable to look away from him as the pleasure snaps and spreads through her body like a giant heartbeat. Bellamy soothes her back as she thrashes with her force of her orgasm, watching her face closely. She doesn’t know what he’s looking for in her face, in her eyes, but she knows she’s committing him to memory. The reverent look on his eyes, the fierceness of his hunger etched in the subtle lines of his face, his jaw working as he holds his own orgasm at bay despite her cunt’s squeezing efforts to draw it from him. She’s never drawn Bellamy before, but if she does, this is how she wants to portray him.

As she starts to come down, he groans, loosening the reigns of his tightly held control and letting his climax overtake him. Clarke can feel him twitch inside her, coming deep and filling her completely just like he did last night. 

She deliberately clenches her walls around him, milking him and drawing in everything he has for her. Bellamy groans appreciatively and bands his arms around her, pulling her closer. She buries her face on the crook of his neck, breathing his earthy scent. Inexplicable joy fills her. The world is ending, what right does she have to be happy?

Bellamy’s arms hug her secure against him as he maneuvers them to the side, pillowing her head on his impressive bicep when they topple over. She looks at him, his eyes firmly shut as he pants, as he recovers. 

She touches his right cheek, ghosting her fingers over the stark angles of his cheekbone and jaw. This side doesn’t show the marks of his sister’s brutality. Clarke didn’t find out exactly what had transpired between them in that cave until after they came back to Arkadia. When she first met with them, the same night they went to Niylah’s trade post, she thought the wounds marring his face were the product of just another fight. But an off-hand comment from Harper and Clarke pulled on that loose thread until she had the whole story out.

She doesn’t know what’s sadder. That no one tried,  _ really  _ tried, to stand up for Bellamy when his sister had him chained and beat him until she was too tired; or that he never told her.

Octavia is lucky she left with Indra before Clarke found out. If she had been here when she did… Clarke bit the heads off of everyone who was in that cave and didn’t intervene for allowing Bellamy to be abused and then have the gall to try to trade his life for someone else’s, someone who was just, if not more, complicit in Lincoln’s death as Bellamy was. But if Octavia had been here? Clarke doesn’t think she could’ve limit herself to merely screaming at her.

Bellamy stirs against her and she shoves those morose thoughts away. Like last night and this morning, her orgasm relieved more than just a physical need. She feels lighter, unburdened, and it’s got everything to do with this connection she and Bellamy discovered.

He stirs again and, anticipating he might move away, Clarke holds onto him tighter.

He chuckles. “We gotta get you cleaned up,” he rasps, palming her slick waist. “You’re all shiny and slippery.”

Clarke grins, casting all doubts away and allowing her heart to soar. If the world wants to end, it can try. They will try to save it, of course, but meanwhile they have earned the right to explore whatever happiness and hope they can find. This connections they have, Clarke will protect it and nurture it for it is precious. It’s her salvation. 

They can save each other just like this, and they’ll find a way to save everyone else because that’s what they do. And they’ll do it together.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this. I look forward to your comments, there's nothing I love more than talking about Clarke, Bellamy and power dynamics.
> 
> By the way, the Bellarke Awards are in full swing and I was nominated for several awards along some pretty amazing and talented people, which makes me incredibly happy. I got a nod on the following categories: Best Family Fiction in the Tropes section for[ 'did I say it out loud (I wanna have your baby)'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4252236), which I recently updated; Best Modern AU Oneshot for [ 'one little taste'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5579197); Best Smutty Oneshot fo [ contrast'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7156769); Best Smutty Drabble for [ 'you touch me (and the stars make love to the universe)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5072635); and Best Underrated Drabble for ['chaotic things’](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6428407) (the outtake from Caught in the Fire, the fic that won the award for Best Smut Fiction last year). Additionally, I’ve been nominated in the categories Best Canon Writer and Best Smut Writer. The other nominees are some of the most talented people I know and some of my favorite fics have been nominated, so you should definitely check them all out before you vote. The polls are open until today, I think, and you can find the full nominee list and vote for your faves [here](http://www.bellarkefanfictionawards.tumblr.com/vote)


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